


Bruised Shins, and Other Nighttime Mishaps

by kmfillz



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Blow Jobs, Breast Fucking, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Dubious Consent, F/M, Gangbang, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Penis In Vagina Sex, Smut, Spitroasting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 07:22:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10566417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmfillz/pseuds/kmfillz
Summary: Hawke sleeps half-naked. Her companions have come to appreciate this habit.(Fill forthis kink meme prompt.)





	

In the wilderness, it gets chillier at night than in the city. You get used to having less privacy on the road, and on nights when the wind is a little too damp and brisk, Hawke and her fellow adventurers think nothing of sleeping close together. As a consequence, everyone has a memory of an embarrassing awakening. The most common of these is waking with someone's morning wood pressing into your buttocks or thighs. Then there's emerging from sleep to discover a bedfellow's hand where, by all rights, it ought not to be, whether that's draped familiarly over your crotch, or fingers poking up into your nose. Everyone has been a perpetrator of this embarrassment at one point or another, so nobody makes a fuss when it happens. It's one of the unglamorous realities of travel, and leaves less of a lasting impression than the rocks that dug into your side all night or those friendly nibbles from enterprising insects.

Varric and Aveline are the only ones who ever pack nightclothes. Varric in particular gets grouchy if they spend the night outdoors unplanned; he says he needs layers between him and the ground to prevent sand and dirt from getting in places too horrible to name. Anders and Merrill happily strip down to their smallclothes at night, not at all body conscious. Fenris does the same, but less happily, snarling at anyone who dares let their eyes linger on the extensive lyrium patterns embedded in his skin. Sebastian shucks off his armor and thick outerwear to sleep in a revealingly thin set of hose. Everyone assumes Isabela sleeps naked, but nobody actually knows for certain. She alone sleeps apart from the others, with daggers in hand. It's unwise to approach her before she's well and truly awake.

And then there's Hawke. Hawke sleeps only in her shirt -- not a nightshirt, her everyday shirt, the one she wears under her armor. The tails of her shirt are about as long as Isabela's tunic, maybe even shorter. Her companions are acutely aware of this fact, just as they are acutely aware of the fact that Hawke sleeps restlessly. Often those sleeping next to Hawke have been woken in the night by an unexpected chill, and sat up to find that Hawke has kicked away their shared blanket in her sleep, and that her shifting has also caused her shirt to ride up to her waist, revealing an absence of smallclothes.

They don't talk about it, but everyone knows about this, and everyone knows everyone knows about this. Varric brought the subject up to Hawke once, more awkward than is usual for the silver-tongued dwarf: "Hawke, do you realize your shirt rides up in your sleep?" She blushed and apologized, but made no change to her habit of sleeping in that shirt and nothing more.

The warmth of summer is fading into the cool of autumn when Varric awakes one night, on the way back from a trip that took them halfway to Ostwick, to see Anders sitting up on the other side of Hawke, looking down at her and touching himself. Varric isn't too surprised. Who wouldn't want to look at that? Hawke is sleeping on her back with her shirt worked up to her ribs, her cunt bared to the night breeze, and her legs slightly spread, tangled in the blankets that had formerly covered them.

This is not the first time Varric has seen her like this, but it's hard to ignore how erotic the sight is with Anders right there stroking his cock to it, breathing heavily as his hand moves rhythmically up and down in appreciation of their sleeping companion's nakedness.

Varric props himself up on one elbow to get a better view, and Anders freezes. The mage's eyes are wide with guilt in the moonlight. He doesn't make a sound, but his adam's apple bobs nervously in his throat. Ink-stained fingers remain wrapped around his erection. He is no less aroused for having been caught in the act.

Varric clears his throat, and speaks quietly, more out of a desire not to spook Anders than out of fear of waking Hawke, whose sleep Varric knows from long experience to be as heavy as it is agitated.

"I didn't see you if you didn't see me."

Anders' eyes widen further. Then he releases the breath he's been holding, and nods. His gaze slides back down toward Hawke's mound. Once again, his hand begins to move on his cock, slowly but purposefully.

Varric slides the waist of his pajamas down to free his own growing erection. Hawke's naked cunt is enticing, so close he could reach out and touch it. He runs his fingers over the slit of his cock, lubricating them, then drags his hand down around his shaft as he imagines spreading Hawke open and going to town. The urge to touch her builds, to close that tiny distance and complete that connection he's felt between them since the first time they met. He pumps his cock ever more vigorously, channeling that frantic energy into his wrist motions, while his other hand digs at the ground in an effort to restrain himself from reaching out for her. Soon enough, he's coming onto his stomach.

He wipes himself off and lies back, arms behind his head, looking up at the stars, feeling sleepily content. Not long after, he hears a soft sound from Anders, half squeak, half sob. _Is that the fabled Grey Warden stamina?_ he thinks to himself with a smile, but he doesn't say anything aloud. He didn't see Anders, and Anders didn't see him: that's the deal. In the morning, neither of them will acknowledge this ever happened.

Hawke tosses in her sleep, kneeing Varric in the calf as she rearranges herself. Her face comes to rest inches from his. He can't resist reaching out to delicately brush a lock of hair from her temple. She's beautiful like this, more than his stories about her will ever convey.

* * *

Accidents happen on the road. People trip over tree roots. Cart wheels get stuck in ruts. Purses (Isabela claims) sometimes detach themselves from belts and wind up inside Isabela's pack. Fenris wakes up early one morning on the road with Anders' hand draped over his groin, weighing surprisingly heavily. An accident, of course. The mage is deep asleep beside him, apparently done with that night's allotment of shouting unintelligibly at imaginary darkspawn. Fenris's cock is eager to rise at the touch. Fenris is cursedly (or blessedly) unable to remember the last time anyone touched him, even unintentionally. Without entirely meaning to, he pushes his hips upward against the warm weight of Anders' palm. An accident. If Fenris then rearranges his arm to lie along the side of his body in such a way that it happens to drape over Anders' wrist, holding that hand in place, that too is surely accidental.

But peeking at Hawke's cunt is no accident. Fenris is deeply ashamed the first time he is caught doing it. He soon learns, however, that all of them have been doing it. The knowledge makes him bolder. He is the first one to take the initiative of pulling the blanket away without Hawke having kicked it off herself. He is only uncovering what they all want to see.

And so ogling Hawke transforms from a secretive, solitary practice to a regular feature of overnight travel. Hawke was always the heaviest sleeper of any of them, but now on nights when the moon is out, she is sometimes the only one to sleep at all.

Her admirers do not allow Hawke's sleep to be disturbed by anything but dreams. Never touching her, they peel back any unshed blankets to enjoy whatever part of herself she has unconsciously chosen to display that night -- her mound, her ass, the parting of her thighs.

Anders is lying next to her one night enjoying the view when Hawke wakes with a start. She sits up and slips out from between him and Merrill to answer the call of her bladder, blind to Anders lying there frozen in fear, with his cock in his hand and his heart in his mouth. When she returns, he pretends to be asleep, too shaken to know what to say to her. Come morning, he is still not sure how to broach the subject.

Blessed Andraste intervenes, in the form of Merrill's shin.

"I don't want to complain," Merrill is telling Hawke, as Anders rubs the sleep from his eyes, "because I know you don't mean to do it, and one shouldn't blame people for things that they can't help doing, but you were kicking my shin terribly hard last night. That isn't usually a problem, but you see I'm all covered in bruises from last week's trip to Sundermount, and the kicking is very painful."

"Merrill, I am so sor-- wait, what do you mean, 'usually'? Do I usually kick you in my sleep?"

"Oh, no," Merrill reassures her. "Sometimes you only elbow me."

Varric laughs from the other side of the campfire where he is fixing breakfast. "Hawke, you sleep like a stampede of brontos."

She is indignant. "How can someone sleep like a stampede?"

"I've asked that often myself," Anders says, sitting up. "Usually while nursing a bruise from you the size of an orange."

"Do I really sleep that restlessly?"

"You really do," Merrill says sadly.

Hawke runs a hand through her hair, which is sticking up at odd angles, and sighs. "I suppose I owe everyone an apology. I had no idea I was so dangerous when I sleep. Unfortunately, I don't think I can promise that it won't happen again."

"I could brew you a sleeping draught," Anders offers. "A small enough dosage can make you sleep more soundly without preventing you from waking come morning."

"Perfect. Mix some of those up for me to bring on trips and I'll see that a sizable amount of coin from a mysterious donor winds up in your clinic funds."

Varric has a concern.

"You aren't worried someone will take advantage of your vulnerable state while you're sleeping like the Stone?"

Hawke snorts. "I should be so lucky," she says, and winks bawdily.

It's decided. Anders will make Hawke sleeping draughts to take on nights when she's sleeping among them. Everyone's shins will be safer for it... and last night's close call will not be repeated.

He should feel relieved, and he does in part, but Anders has the uneasy feeling that there's a line they are about to cross.

* * *

When they cross the line, it is almost an accident. Hawke and "her three favorite men" ("Sorry, Sebastian!" is Varric's reaction to that pronouncement) are on their way back to Kirkwall from a grueling adventure. The high dragon had been the least of the trouble, if you can believe it. Their spirits are moderately high from post-battle adrenaline when they make camp for the night, but as the evening stretches into night, the laughter dies down, and the silence grows grim, haunted by memories of the charred corpses in the mines. They extinguish the fire and settle down to sleep, hoping to lose themselves in dreams or (in Varric's case) oblivion. Hawke downs a sleeping draught, saying she's sorry she didn't bring enough for everyone. But exhaustion does its work, and the rest of them drift off soon after she does.

Varric wakes to Anders leaning over him, whispering, "Varric! Wake up, you bloody dwarf."

He opens his eyes just enough to glare.

"Move your hand!" Anders hisses. There's an edge of desperation to his voice.

Varric's right hand is lying on his stomach doing nobody any harm. It must be his left hand, resting on the person next to him, that's causing Blondie such distress. He twitches his fingers, then abruptly comes fully awake, realizing exactly where his hand is.

"You're blocking the view," Fenris's voice rumbles, from behind Anders.

He'll bet he is. His thumb is resting in the crease where Hawke's thigh meets her torso. Under the heel of his palm is a soft patch of hair. His fingers are draped down between her slightly splayed legs.

Varric removes his hand hastily. Haste and sleepiness together beget clumsiness. His fingers drag against her labia unintentionally.

Hawke gasps.

_Shit._

"Hawke?" he whispers, testing. Anders and Fenris look panicked. There's no further sound or movement from the woman. Slowly, tentatively, but not at all accidentally, Varric repeats the intimate caress, running the tips of his fingers lightly up her slit.

Again, her breasts heave under her shirt in a small gasp. He rolls onto his side for a better angle, and strokes her again, the pads of his fingers moving over the crease where her labia come together, careful not to slip between them. Hawke's mouth opens slightly with her breath. No other reaction. When he runs his fingers between her legs again, this time his middle finger slips on wetness and slides deeper between the labia. She may be fast asleep, but her body is awake to his touch.

Behind him, Anders and Fenris watch, captivated.

"Oh Maker, I want to be inside that," Anders groans.

"You have but to say the word," Varric says smoothly, and leans his face close to Hawke's. His fingers continue to move nimbly along her cunt, teasing without waking.

"Hawke," he murmurs in her ear.

She doesn't stir.

"Hawke," he murmurs again, and then kisses her fervidly, tongue slipping in through her parted lips.

He feels her mouth begin to respond.

She opens her eyes blearily, aware of a tingling between her legs and someone else's mouth on her own. She turns her head to the side, breaking the kiss. Her head feels strangely heavy, and her thoughts too light, floating away before she can pin them down. A rough, familiar voice whispers her name.

"Varric?" she mumbles. The dark shape in front of her refuses to become any less blurry.

She feels a large, warm arm burrow under her shoulders and tilt her upper body up toward the shape. That wide mouth closes on hers again. It's definitely Varric. There's a hand between her legs -- Varric too? -- circling around her clit tantalizingly, never touching it. The hand supporting back slides around under her elbow to knead her breast through the fabric of her shirt.

She's not sure if she's awake or dreaming. (She's not sure which she wants it to be.)

The kiss ends too soon. "Hawke," Varric whispers. He brushes her lips over hers, his stubble rubbing against her jaw. "They want your permission to fuck you."

 _They do?_ "Who?" she asks, or tries to, because at that moment his fingers finally make direct contact with her clit, and she moans in the middle of the word. "Yes. I mean, what?" These sensations, while pleasant, are disorienting her further. She's not sure what the question was. All she knows is that she doesn't want to move and make whatever is happening stop.

"Anders and Fenris. Can they fuck you?"

"Ahhh..." she moans, as the hand between her legs spreads her open. Varric's mouth is moving down her neck with small kisses and bites.

That might have been a yes. Fenris doesn't wait to find out. He kneels down between her thighs, nudging them further apart to make room for his slim hips.

Varric lifts his hand from her cunt to clear the way for the elf. Her hips buck upward in an attempt to follow. This show of lust is all the invitation Fenris needs to grab her hips, position the head of his cock against her opening, and push all the way inside her in a single motion. He claims her body in movements rough with desperation from watching without having for so long.

Hawke moans something, but the words are muffled in Varric's mouth as he kisses her again. He slides his large hand up under her shirt to grope her breasts, tracing concentric circles toward her nipples, pulling at them while his mouth keeps her mouth busy. All the while Fenris fucks her franticly on his long cock.

Some immeasurable time later, some immeasurable number of thrusts later, Fenris spills himself inside her, cock spasming ecstatically. He withdraws, then, and steps away, but somebody else immediately moves in to take his place. Hawke feels human-sized hands take up her hips. She tries to sit up to see what's going on, but Varric's hands on her breasts hold her down. She opens her mouth to say, "Wai--" but whatever Hawke was going to say is lost in a gasp as the new figure between her legs pushes the tip of his cock inside her.

Where the first to enter her was jerky and fast, this one enjoys slowly fucking in and out of her. She hears his voice -- a familiar voice, she'd know it if Varric's lips weren't doing that thing to her ear -- muttering how good she looks on his cock, how wanton, how much he's wanted to do this.

Varric nibbles on her lips, and swallows each moan or attempt at speech. She is utterly helpless under them.

The tortuously slow fucking gets faster and faster, and she feels her vagina clenching around his cock desperately. She's sure he's going to come, but he pulls out, and Anders -- right, that's Anders -- says something to Varric, "Let me..." She loses track of what they are saying, her mind again drifting. She's trembling all over. Both of them have pulled away from her, and dammit, she needs them back.

Hands return to her body, helping her up into a position on her hands and knees. Then Anders pushes into her from behind without further ado, continuing to pound her at the same furious pace as before. She stares blankly ahead of her. Her head is still trying to clear. A large hand reaches into her field of vision. Varric strokes her face and tilts her head up toward him. His other hand cups the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair.

He looks into her eyes with an expression overflowing with some emotion Hawke can't think to identify. He opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it again, strokes her cheek with his thumb, and steps closer.

Something cloth covered bumps against her face. It takes her a moment to understand what, and to think, _I want that._ Varric wants the same thing. He pulls his pajamas down over his hips, hands shaking with urgency. His cock, freed, from confinement, bounces against her cheek eagerly. She lifts one hand, wobbling dangerously for a moment as Anders nearly unbalances her with a vigorous thrust, and reaches up to encircle the base of Varric's cock with her fingers.

She brings the head of his cock to her lips, and hesitates. Her tongue darts out to lick her lips in anticipation, but Anders' next thrust jostles her forward, and the head of Varric's cock slips between her lips before she's expecting it. She takes a moment to adjust to having a cock in her from either direction. Anders' fingers dig into her hips as he pulls her against him harder with each thrust. She rubs her tongue around the smooth head filling her mouth, and is rewarded with a jerk of Varric's hips and his hand tightening in her hair. She begins to suck in earnest, letting Anders' rhythm set the pace. Her head moves back and forth around Varric's cock as Anders pounds into her again and again. Her rear is starting to feel bruised from the repeated impacts, but Anders is showing no signs of tiring.

An ill-timed thrust of Anders' pushes Varric's cock too far in down her throat, and she chokes, losing her balance in the process. Varric's hands steady her, holding her up to take him in her mouth once more. This time Varric guides her head back and forth with a firm hand on her jaw, controlling the pace on that end independent of what Anders is doing to her cunt. As the two halves of her drift out of sync, Hawke gives herself up to their desires, unable to find her bearings in the jumble of motion and friction and pressure. The three of them move like that for a long time, together and apart and apart and together, the men pleasuring themselves with her body in different ways.

At last, Anders comes inside her with a hoarse shout. He leans against her for a short while after, his cock still in her cunt. At the other end, her head continues to bob spiritedly on Varric's cock. Then Anders pulls out of her. As he withdraws, she feels his and Fenris's seed leaking down her legs.

He smacks her ass.

"A few minutes and we can go again, eh?"

She laughs around Varric's cock and almost chokes again. Varric steps back to save her, his cock escaping her mouth. She grabs him by his hips and pulls him back toward her. Instead of taking him in her mouth again, she nuzzles against his balls and licks up the underside of his cock.

 _"Hawke,"_ Varric begs in a shaky voice. She teases at the base of the head of his cock with her tongue wickedly, enjoying discombobulating him the way he had done to her when she was half asleep.

She pulls her shirt off over her head. His eyes follow the motion hungrily. Then both great minds have the same thought at the same time. She's pulling him forward as he pushes her backward, and they land together, her lying beneath him, him straddling her naked chest. He bends down to kiss first one nipple, then the other. The night breeze makes the saliva cool on her nipples. He squeezes her soft breasts together and slides his hard cock between them. He rocks slowly back and forth over her. She looks up into his face. His eyelids flutter shut, blissful from the sensations of her breasts, now slick with precum, pressing around his cock. His eyes reopen, and she catches him staring down at her face with a look of awe as he moves against her chest. His thumbs press into her nipples. She reaches her hands up to grab his firm ass. He throws his head back as he thrusts once more and comes, muscled thighs shaking with effort as his cock twitches, spilling sticky seed over her breasts which pools in the hollow of her throat.

He bends down and kisses her cheek.

"You were wonderful, Hawke," he whispers, then rolls off her to lie beside her on the ground. She looks around. Fenris and Anders are already asleep half on top of each other, in what looks suspiciously like a cuddle.

"In the morning you'll explain what just happened, right?" she whispers to Varric.

"I'll tell you the whole story." She can hear the grin in his voice. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her against him in what is definitely a cuddle.

Hawke closes her eyes and sinks into a deep, sated sleep.


End file.
